


Find thy centre out

by gloss



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Recreational Drug Use, Reunion Sex, gratuitous schmoop, scruffy field Finn, weird wartime domesticity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 19:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8173435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: "Finn, man. Finn. Seven weeks. You have not yet begun to plumb the depths of my shameless sentimentality, believe me."Poe arrives to retrieve Finn after a long solo mission. They've missed each other *a lot*.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galacticproportions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticproportions/gifts).



> Thanks to G. for the quick beta.
> 
> For GP, who never fails to inspire love and respect and admiration.
> 
> Title from Romeo & Juliet because I am hopeless.

"Can I go forward when my heart is here? / Turn back, dull earth, and find thy centre out." (2.1.1-2)

 

Much more than gravity impels Poe forward and down this steep path, twisting through one of the hundreds of ravines that feather out from the planet's massive river systems. But it's gravity, too, shoving his back and yanking him down until he's half-convinced he might just take flight, go perpendicular to the ground.

"Don't even start, I know I'm late, you would not _believe_ the hyperlanes --" Poe is grinning, shaking his head and gesturing broadly as he rushes down the ravine path. He skids to a stop at the bottom, spraying some stray gravel and leaves, and plants his hands on his hips, his grin widening even more. "Hey, babe. What's up?"

Finn has been planetside here on Potamoi for a little more than seven standard weeks. Comms silence has been protocol for all missions, including this one, since a former Republic officer defected to the First Order, taking encryption codes and deployment data with her. Finn has been interviewing locals from all the major cultural and species groups, making observations on resource management, even working part-time down at the docks of the third-largest river port.

If what they suspect is true, the First Order is expanding and elaborating its network for capital transfer and flight. By diverting a significant amount of traceable Republic-origin credits through the tangle of shipping and mining concerns here, the Huxes and others appear to be coming out with clean, spendable cash.

"You're not _that_ late," Finn says from the entrance to his small dwelling. 

The ravine walls form rough vertical foundations for the dwellings, which are wedged into the rock and soil like folded prayer cards at a temple on Virren-8. Finn's apartment, like all the others, is broadest at the entrance, narrowing to little less than a meter at the back.

Finn has a datapad in one hand, half a ration bar in the other; he's chewing the other half. He must have just come in from work, as he's still wearing oilcloth trousers, tight to the thigh and then flared, held up with braces, but just a snug singlet on top.

Poe takes a moment to admire... _everything_ about the sight, before closing the distance. At the bottom of the low steps up to Finn, he tips back his head. "I'm over a day late, buddy, where've you been?"

Frowning, Finn swallows his ration and hauls Poe up into an enormous hug. " _Really_? Busy, I guess."

Poe buries his face against Finn's neck and sways a little, as long as Finn'll let him. The old boards wheeze under their feet.

"Busy solving mysteries," Poe says when the hug breaks. He pats Finn's hip, squeezes a little as he passes, and pokes his head inside. It's not as mean and hovel-like as he'd been worrying. Dark, sure, but everything is here in the ravine, and otherwise, it's sparsely furnished and achingly, Finn-ishly neat. "Solving mysteries, saving the world, stealing fighters. Is there _nothing_ you can't do?"

Finn's still back at the entrance, but he has bag in hand and jacket over his arm. "Shouldn't we get a move on?"

"It's twilight," Poe tells him and Finn's distracted enough that he checks over his shoulder. "We're not going anywhere til morning."

"Oh." The smile Finn gives him is abashed, a little wry. "That's..."

"That all right?" Poe frowns; there's something in the stiffness of Finn's posture, or maybe that smile wasn't rueful so much as impatient. Whatever it is, Poe's misinterpreting _something_. "I'm not messing up some super-important Finn-genda here?"

"No, no, of course not, it's --" Finn sits down heavily on the bench-cum-bunk that runs nearly the depth of the dwelling. "Sorry. I'm just having trouble switching focus."

"I'll say." Poe drops down next to him and knocks their knees together. "You haven't even --"

"Shit, I'm sorry." Finn presses his fists against his eye sockets and exhales in a gust. "I should have asked. How are you?"

"I'm great, man, better all the time. But that's not what I meant."

"No?" Finn slumps a little against Poe when Poe slides his hand around Finn's back. He tucks his hand around the far edge of Finn's waist and squeezes.

"Kissed me, I was going to say," Poe murmurs, pressing his mouth against the crown of Finn's skull. His hair is longer than it has been in a while, tight curlicues tickling Poe's cheek.

Against him, Finn stiffens. "Shit, sorry, I'm really sorry."

"Don't be." 

"I _am_ , though, I'm all over the place, I've been prepping my report, I thought --"

"Ssshh, Finn, it's cool."

Finn tips back his head and meets Poe's eyes. His smile now is simple, and plain, and _lovely_. "I missed you."

"Same," Poe tells him. "To the power of about a thousand. A thousand-thousand."

When they kiss, Poe wants to sink into the contact; Finn's arms come up around him, pull him closer. His hands push into Poe's helmet-flat hair, his mouth opens on a sigh that becomes a murmur, then shifts back into a sigh as Poe kisses away the impending apology.

He hasn't forgotten the feel of Finn's body against his - that's never going to happen, he's sure of it, he'll do whatever it takes to make sure that doesn't happen. But the some of the farther details have blurred, or blunted, so there's a series of rediscoveries passing through him - the expanse of Finn's shoulders and rumble and shift of his shoulder blades, the softness of his throat, the fleecy whisper of his slight beard, the sharp edge to his teeth when he nips against Poe's tongue to push the kiss deeper.

When the kiss softens, goes slack, Finn sighs, tucking his head into the curve of Poe's shoulder.

"When was the last time you slept?" Poe asks and strokes the outer curve of Finn's ear.

Finn frowns, thinking it over. "Last night?"

" _Really_ slept. And if it was last night, you probably wouldn't answer it as a question."

"Poe, man --"

He holds up his hand. "I'm not babying you, I promise. If you were Karé or Wexley or BB-8, I'd be asking the same questions." When Finn starts to say something, Poe grins and rubs his jaw. "With relevant species-technological refinements, that is."

"I've been busy," Finn says, a little dully.

"Which is great. You're great." Poe massages the back of Finn's neck, good and hard, really digging in his knuckles. Groaning, Finn drops his head forward to give him more access. "None of this is criticism."

"Sure it isn't," Finn replies, but he's smiling, turning his face, looking at Poe. "You're so harsh."

"I've got standards, see --" Poe grips the nape of Finn's neck and kisses him again. Softly, at first; Finn's mouth is sour, a little sticky, but open and warm, _eager_. Familiar in ways that Poe still doesn't have words for.

Finn's mustache tickles, and thrills, and _that_ is unfamiliar, and dear.

"You check on Karé and Snap like this, too?" Finn whispers into Poe's neck.

"Not any more, nope."

"Aw." Finn's shoulders lift in a laugh. "And BB-8?"

"Always," Poe says promptly, "with lots of tongue."

Finn pushes at Poe's chest. "Ewww."

"Yeah, don't worry, he'd incapacitate me in about six different ways before I got within tongue-reach."

"I wasn't actually worried," Finn says, then pauses for a moment. "Not until you started providing so much detail, that is."

"I'm trying to be more responsive and thorough." Poe fakes a scowl and sighs. "You know that."

"You're still on about that?"

" _Still?_ " Poe shoves Finn gently. "You've been in the field for seven weeks, man. Not seven years. Not even seven months."

Shrugging, Finn gives him a little half-smirk. The way it slants, promising _terrible_ and wonderful things, is enough to make Poe's skin heat and prickle. "You tend to lose interest in things pretty quickly, that's all."

"I do not!"

"You're all enthusiasm, enthusiasm, enthusi-hey what's that, I'm going to go check _that_ out..."

"Counterpoint," Poe says, and jabs his finger into Finn's chest. "You."

"Me what?"

"Never losing interest in you."

Finn presses his lips together, regarding Poe gravely, but then his smile breaks and beams. "Are you serious right now?"

Poe nods rapidly, as fast as he can, and nearly makes himself dizzy. "As a, a, um. Threepio briefing, but only in terms of seriousness, not utter joylessness and soul-deadening despair. Yes."

"No, I mean -- I know you're serious, but -- you're actually comfortable saying that? Saying something so --"

"Finn, man. Finn. _Seven weeks._ You have not yet plumbed the depths of my shameless sentimentality, believe me."

"Huh," Finn says, still smiling, his eyes moving back and forth as he takes Poe in. Poe can see himself reflected on the surface of Finn's eyes - big nose, mostly, shock of hair - and has to stop himself, almost physically, from wondering what it is Finn sees right now. Any time. "That sounds promising."

"Yeah?" He matches Finn's smile. Time heats up and stills in the narrow space between them, then tightens around them. "You ready to plumb some depths, buddy?"

"Oh, yeah --" A sudden, all-consuming, jaw-cracking yawn overtakes Finn. When it has released him, he's shaking his head. "Damn. I'm sorry --"

"Eat, then sleep," Poe tells him, patting his shoulder before pulling himself to his feet. 

"You're not the boss of me," Finn grumbles. "You're not even my superior officer."

"Yeah, yeah, heard this all before." Poe retrieves the ingredients and cooking supplies from his carryall and waves Finn back down. "Take it up with the general, but I'm making you dinner. 'cause I'm such a hardass."

"I _will_ take it up with her," Finn says, tipping over so he's lying on his side, one leg on the floor, watching Poe fuss at the cooker. "General Organa, I know he's your favorite, but Dameron's getting a tad too bossy --"

Poe starts to measure out broth, then decides to hell with it and pours it all in. "First of all, I'm not her favorite."

Finn laughs, too loudly for this small space. "You are."

"Am not."

"Anyway."

"But I'm not," Poe insists, stirring up the stew before checking on the grains. He missed the right moment to take them off the heat. They're gluey now, not fluffy, but his dad always said that stew fixes every problem and hides every mistake. "I think actually _you_ are, at least if the last seven weeks are anything to go by."

Finn snorts and presses up behind Poe to look at the food; Poe bats him away, even as Finn says, "You're so full of it."

"Watch out or you'll be --" Poe stops, clamping his mouth shut, and stirs the stew diligently.

"What?" Finn's still behind him, and now he's folding his arm across Poe's chest, which makes it delightfully difficult to stir, or concentrate, or do anything at all. "You were saying?"

His breath is hot on the side of Poe's neck.

"You should sit," Poe says.

"Tell me." Finn presses his open mouth against Poe's neck, right at the hairline, and tightens his hold.

"You'll be full of it," Poe says in a rush, heating up all over. "I was going to say --"

"Yeah," Finn says, voice low and amused. "I thought so."

He squeezes Poe, nips at his neck, then backs up and collapses back on the bed-bench-thing, the all-in-one but comfort-in-none. When Poe looks over his shoulder, Finn's lounging there with legs spread, arms up behind his head, smug little smile on his face.

"Eat, then sleep," Poe reminds him and takes a moment to admire his own maturity and restraint. "Hey, check out my maturity and restraint."

He serves up the stew over the glue-clumps of grains and hands the larger portion to Finn.

"I'm not sure it counts as mature if you have to point it out," Finn says. "Let alone restrained."

"Just helping you, because you're so tired," Poe says. "Normally, being the epitome of maturity and restraint that I am, I would forebear, of course."

"Of course, of course." Finn sets his plate down and smiles at Poe - sleepily, fondly, a little of both. "Missed you."

Poe taps his plate. "You missed my cooking."

"Not really, no," Finn says, poking at the wad of grains pushing through the stew. He yawns again.

"Eat, then sleep."

Finn rolls his eyes. "Should bathe, too, and shave --"

"Hold off on that," Poe says, then shovels stew into his mouth.

Finn rasps at his beard. "I'm ratty as hell, man."

"Nah," Poe says, swallowing. "Rugged."

"Scruffy."

"Yeah, that." Poe meets his gaze and grins. "Perfect."

"You're so strange." Finn shakes his head as he finishes off his meal.

"Scruffy field Finn," Poe says hoarsely, "an independent, self-sufficient man, beholden to no one, the very image of liberty --"

"You're way past strange now," Finn observes, retrieving the pan from the cooker and serving himself the rest of the stew. "Heading right into maniac, possibly lunatic, territory."

"Baby," Poe says, extending his leg, trying to brush his foot up against Finn's calf. It was supposed to be intimate, seductive, but he's a little too far away, so it just looks like he's working out a cramp. "I've been _there_ for --"

"Seven weeks?"

"Oh, much better answer! I was just going to say 'years' but yours is way better." 

Finn's shaking his head again, more slowly, still smiling. The plate starts to tip out of his hand; he jumps, catches it, and after a slight hesitation, hands it to Poe. "Don't even say it."

"We ate," Poe says, scraping the refuse into the compost hole, then piling everything in the small tub to wash in the morning. He casts about briefly, trying to discern how to close the dwelling when there's no door. At last, he finds the floor-to-ceiling insect screen folded and tucked into the far corner. He pulls it across, locks it in three places, and says, "Now sleep."

"I said --" Finn's already lying on his side, boots off, one toe peeking out from the worn tip of his sock. "Don't even say it."

"I heard you," Poe says, stripping off his jersey and undoing his fly. He stands there, hesitating, for a moment. This must be how Finn slept every night they've been apart, curled on his side, holding the hem of the blanket to his chin. "Want to make some room for me?"

Finn reaches over his head and slaps something on the short side of the couch; it creaks and groans alarmingly, shudders, and accordions open, away from the wall, making Poe squeak and dance back on his toes.

"Warn a guy!"

Chuckling, Finn flaps out the large blanket and urges him under.

"Could've lost a toe, or worse," Poe says, wriggling into the unfamiliar bunk. They do the little shift-and-dance they've done almost every night they've shared - Finn drops his leg over Poe's, Poe twists onto his side and pushes his arm across Finn's chest, they nudge and mumble and sigh - and then it's dark, quiet, rapidly getting colder outside the blanket.

Finn has always managed to fall asleep nearly instantly. Poe pillows his head on his elbow and watches him for a while, taking it all in, the soft outline of his profile, the unfamiliar texture of his beard.

He's allowed to look as long as he likes, Poe decides. Relief is something you cannot overindulge on.

*

Before he's fully awake, Poe thinks he's back on Yavin. It's the steady roar of the rain, certainly, though as he nears full consciousness, he can pick out how different this rain sounds from that at home. It falls straight down here, feeding the thirsty rivers, heedless of the dwellings; at home, though it comes just as fast and full, it breaks through the forest canopy, gets distracted by leaves and vines and leaping birds, and eventually finds the ground with a plop and whisper.

Poe rolls over, reaching for Finn, but the bed is empty. He lifts his head and squints toward the entrance. It smells like spice in here -- that's the other reason he thought of home. He can smell the light, sweet smoke of the spice Kes and Rex would share in the evenings.

Finn's sitting at the entrance, the red tip of a spice bidi hovering at his hand, sheets of silver rain pounding down just beyond him. He might as well be sitting inside a waterfall.

"This is new," Poe says, dropping down next to Finn, sticking his feet out into the rain.

"I hate it," Finn replies, then takes a drag.

"Yeah, you look tortured and miserable." Poe elbows him and reaches for the bidi. Finn passes it over, exhaling upward, the smoke blurring the rain. Maybe the rain is piercing the smoke. Hard to tell; Poe took too deep a hit and now he's flat on his back. "Fuck."

"It's pretty strong," Finn says, smiling down at him, cupping his cheek. "You all right?"

"Woke up hard, promptly got stoned, it's like I'm fifteen again," Poe tells him, tugging himself up by pulling on Finn's singlet. "Except I didn't wake up to gorgeous dude cradling me, so suck it, kid."

Finn laughs, and tosses the bidi into the rain before kissing Poe good and hard. "Your wasted youth."

Poe pushes Finn onto his back and hauls himself up to straddle him. It's rough, he misses the mark a few times and his head is swimming and whirling, but he makes it, finally, curls his fingers into the straps of Finn's singlet, and just hovers there. That hesitant-gravity feeling is back, except he's not in motion. But the rain is deafening, the air damp and sweet, and Finn is reaching for him, grinning, touching Poe's face like he's looking for something.

"You need a hand?" Poe turns to press his mouth against one of Finn's palms. 

"I'm good," Finn says, so softly the words are nearly beaten out by the rain. He sits up, arm going around Poe's waist, hand on his ass, to keep him from tumbling into the downpour. "You?"

"Never better," Poe says and rests his first three fingers against the inside of Finn's wrist to seal the swear. He wriggles down - both so his knees meet the ground fully and so his erection grazes Finn's - and when Finn's mouth opens, Poe grinds more deliberately, watching Finn's mouth work and his eyelashes flutter. "Did I mention I missed you?"

"Seven weeks," Finn replies and grasps Poe's ass _much_ harder. He rolls his hips up to meet Poe's downward rock, and gasps when Poe kisses his hand, his wrist, his thumb.

Poe cranes in to kiss Finn's cheek, then slides his mouth along his jaw. "I really like the beard."

"You mentioned, yeah."

"I do," Poe says, in case he hasn't been clear. "Want to feel it between my legs." Finn goes still at that, instantly. Poe leans back, forces himself to keep eye contact. "I've given you more than enough stubble burns to last the rest of your natural life. Return the favor?"

Finn's mouth twists and he glances away, then back. "It's not --"

"It feels great," Poe says. He keeps saying things wrong. Not in a terrible, soul-destroying way, but in small ways, inscrutable ones, tiny failures that could be fissures that persist. They could widen, break things apart, ruin everything, but so far down the line their origin will be lost. "Please?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's -- yeah. Of course." Finn's chuckling, then laughing, helplessly.

"What? Why are you laughing?"

"You don't have to ask nicely, with 'please' and everything, for me to blow you, that's all."

Poe pretends to think that one over. "No?"

"Hell, no," Finn says, and his hand's inside Poe's drawers in a flash, taking him out, stroking him while Finn smirks up at him. "Try and stop me, man."

"Never," Poe swears. "Never ever."

"Except for last night," Finn says musingly. "If you hadn't been such a hardass last night with your ridiculous 'eat then sleep, eat then sleep' papa Poe shtick --"

"You might think so, but you'd've passed out halfway through. Just snored the night away with my dick in your mouth."

"In my _throat_ , thank you," Finn says and jerks Poe a little faster. His hand's calloused in new ways but stronger, surer, than ever, and Poe has to swallow and think of terribly unsexy things, naked Palpatines and coquettish Threepios, to resist bucking and grinding and spilling right the fuck _now_. "But I don't snore."

"You do snore. A lot."

"Maybe I'm allergic to you," Finn says, and lies down, urging Poe up onto his knees. He mouths the inside of Poe's thighs, his balls, and grins when Poe flails out an arm for balance.

"Maybe," Poe says when he's steadier again, "that'd be tragic, huh?"

"Yeah, it would," Finn says and pulls Poe forward by the crack of his ass and base of his cock until his mouth's slipping over the head and locking tight and he's looking up at Poe all innocent and beautiful and _obscene_. He's waiting for something, looks patient as a Jedi sage ready to outwait erosion and stellar death, so Poe gives them both what they want. The moan breaks from his gut, grows louder and shreds out his mouth, into the rain. He digs his nails into his grip on the screen frame and Finn's shoulder and rocks forward.

Finn's smile is somehow discernible, even around Poe's aching shaft, bright and pleased, both self-satisfied and brightly generous. He's going right down, dragging tongue and lips, twisting the skin a little, working Poe right to the back of his palate before pulling up.

"I'm not going to --" Poe says, then pounds his fist on his knee.

Finn pulls right off, slurp-pop and sting of cold, his lips shining. Even his chin is soaked with spit already. "That's the idea."

"But --" Disappointment strikes Poe in some obscure spot, at a strange, oblique angle, and all the worries rush back in - what does Finn mean, are they even still the same for each other, what's changed? - worries that tumble over questions and breed immense new squirming litters.

Finn strokes two fingers down Poe's crack. Poe shivers, his dick twitching hard; Finn's tongue darts out, laps up the new pre-come, and he licks all around his mouth before he says, "Get the first one out of the way. Then I can take my time with you."

"I --" Poe shakes his head. His hair's wet from the mist coming off the rain, or maybe the sweat pouring off him, or both. "Fuck."

"Also the idea," Finn says, nodding, and wraps both arms around Poe's waist, pulling him closer, opening his mouth to take Poe's dick back in. 

In years past, no one would ever have said that Poe Dameron worried too much. Lack of worry and care, that's his _thing_ , always has been. He's reckless and headstrong, right, a tactician without the patience for strategy, a reaction waiting to happen, quivering, exploding. 

He's the last person capable of possibly understanding quite how _this_ , the galaxy's steadiest, sweetest man, inspires worry as well as everything else, all the other better, lovelier things.

Maybe it's the way they met, then promptly lost each other. Maybe because this is the longest second chance _ever_ , Poe needs to distrust it, just a little.

Maybe he's just a fool. That's highly likely, really, the likeliest of all answers, come to think of it.

Finn's working him front and back, bobbing Poe into his throat, swallowing around him, even as he strokes open his crack, works the pad of one finger around his hole, and he's smiling the entire time, bent to his work like he's never been happier or more personally, even _spiritually_ , satisfied.

"Finn, baby, I'm --"

As Poe rises up, Finn buries his face against Poe, moaning, the slick crushing _love_ of his throat drawing out Poe's orgasm in streamers, in long twisting brilliant shots that drain him even as they leave behind a body-shaking thrilling noise throughout him. He wraps his free arm around Finn's head, strokes the swell of his dick inside Finn's cheek, sees black spangled with white and red, wheeling and sparking. 

As Finn rests there, shoulders heaving, Poe touches the nape of his neck, his beard, the sweat on his back, all with fingertips gone numb with pleasure and relief.

When he pulls out, half-soft, aching and sticky, Poe makes a sound that, even to his own ears, is neither sob nor sigh, but maybe both, and then some.

"Missed --"

"-- you," Finn says for him, smiling with come in the corner of his mouth and a sleepy curve to his half-lidded eyes. He stretches his arms over his head, then pats the floor next to him. "C'mere."

"Way ahead of you," Poe says, but he's clumsy, slightly creaky, post-orgasmically goofy as well as temperamentally so. He has to brace a hand, swing one leg over, tumble to his side, then, finally, draw himself up along Finn's side. 

"Missed --" Finn says and Poe finishes it for him this time, and kisses him and hopes to stick fast and stay right here, caught, and still.


End file.
